


Too Slow For You

by MickyRC



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ace Friendly Relationship, Ace Omens, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Fluff, Gen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Misunderstandings, Moving In Together, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, also, does it count if there is zero sex involved?, not sure, praise kink?, tagging it anyway, they are both doing their best but my god they are bad at talking to each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 03:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22009597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MickyRC/pseuds/MickyRC
Summary: The angel was making that face.  The guilty one.  The slightly bastard-yI-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about-but-it-definitely-wasn’t-my-faultface.“The only way there would be books in my flat is ifyou’rebringing them.  Now why have you been slowly turning my place into a library?”The answer, of course, would make them both very happy if they would justtelleach other.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 286
Collections: Asexual Good Omens





	Too Slow For You

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic I wrote for the Good Omens Secret Santa on tumblr! If you wanna say hi, my inbox is always open [over here!](https://one-with-the-floor.tumblr.com/)

It’s amazing how much something can change without one noticing, so long as the change is slow enough. Things just happen so _fast._ And if your general experience of time is a little stretched out, well, forget it. Crowley had turned around to find entire empires had fallen while he wasn’t looking.

That said, he really should have noticed the books sooner than he did.

“...angel?”

“Yes, dearest?”

“Uh…” He stared down at the pile of paperbacks he’d just kicked over. “When did these get here?”

Aziraphale popped his head around the kitchen doorway. “Oh, those. They’ve been there for weeks, now.”

Crowley stared at him, then blinked slowly down at the books pooled around his feet. “They have?”

“Yes, I’m sure of it. They’ve been rather in the way. Honestly, darling, you _live_ here, how have you not noticed?”

“Er. Dunno.” He picked his way out of the stack and headed for the kitchen. Clearly, he wasn’t properly awake yet. He needed coffee.

But as he passed the window, he noticed another set of books set on the sill. And when he went to investigate _those_ , his eye caught on _more_ books tucked onto the shelf against the wall. And a few on the coffee table. And another stack on the floor next to the sofa. He turned in a slow circle, face scrunched up in confusion.

“Angel?”

“Mhm?”

“What’s going on here?”

Aziraphale’s face appeared again, and he peered around the room, also looking confused. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Wha—pfh— _this!_ ” He gestured at the piles of unexplained literature surrounding him. “There’s—there are books!”

Aziraphale’s expression did not clear up. “...yes?”

“There are books in my flat, angel!”

“...yes.”

Crowley stared at him, incredulous. He was having a crisis over here, and all Aziraphale could say was “ _yes?_ ” “Wh—but— _why?_ How did they get here? _When_ did they get here?”

“Oh I think quite a while ago, most of them—”

He picked up and brandished one of the books by his feet. “I don’t have books.”

“Well clearly you do, darl—”

“ _Aziraphale.”_ The angel was making that face. The guilty one. The slightly bastard-y _I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about-but-it-definitely-wasn’t-my-fault_ face. “The only way there would be books in my flat is if _you’re_ bringing them. Now why have you been slowly turning my place into a library?”

To his credit, he only hedged and wrung his hands for a few moments before giving in with a sigh. “I thought—oh, I don’t know,” he admitted. “Just, you—you’ve been bringing me plants for _years_ now, and I suppose I wanted… well.” He was looking determinedly at the floor, but Crowley thought he might be seeing the edge of a blush coloring his cheeks. “I—I thought you might like them, is all,” he said quietly.

It took a moment. Took a moment to register, but when it did hit him it hit like a speeding car. “Oh,” Crowley managed to get out, but then his throat tightened and no words would come to him. No words he was going to say _aloud,_ anyway.

“I hope you aren’t bothered...” Aziraphale took a step forward.

Crowley took a step back. “No, it’s—nah, nah, just, ah, gotta, ngk. I gotta, uh, gotta go. Go do a thing, I’ll just, I’ll—yeah, that’s—see you, angel.” And he turned, and tripped over the books, and _absolutely_ didn’t run out of the flat. He wasn’t _that_ upset. He wasn’t upset at all. Just had to… go do a thing.

Running on autopilot, he beelined for the Bentley, and once he was inside he let the car do most of the decision making. He was still theoretically the one driving it, but even if his hands were on the wheel, his mind was not. All he could think about were the books, the _books_ planted all over his flat, and the guilty face that’d put them there. A face that should’ve—that _did_ — know better.

“Shit shit shit shit _shit shit SHIT!_ ” He slammed his hands down on the steering wheel. It didn’t make him feel any better, just made his palms sting as much as his eyes. “ _Argh,”_ he growled, tipping his head back against the seat, hoping to keep the dampness in his eyes from getting out, willing it back inside. Instead, all it did was make the tears run sideways down his face, tracking past his ears and not doing anything to cool the flames in his cheeks.

Crowley didn’t like reading. He just didn’t enjoy it, it wasn’t for him. Not his thing. And he’d thought Aziraphale knew that. Thought he… understood? Respected, that was… sort of it. He’d thought Aziraphale respected him enough (as a colleague, you know) not to push him on it. The angel liked books, that was fine. Crowley had never _once_ made fun, or looked down on him, or Satan forbid tried to _stop him_ from reading! So why—why did he—why was Aziraphale doing that to him?

 _You’re not good enough for him,_ hissed a not-so-buried part of his mind. _You’re not good enough for him and he knows it._

 _That’s not true!_ cried another part, but he shoved that bit down under the rug.

 _I know that_ , said a section he was still acknowledging. _I just—I don’t—_

_You don’t what? Don’t want him to know? Don’t want him to try to change you, even though that’s the only way you’ll ever get to be with him?_

_He’s not—he shouldn’t be—_

_He’s an angel. You’re a demon. You’re so far beneath him already, the_ least _you could do is to read a little. Isn’t he worth it?_

And he was. That was—there was no doubt in Crowley’s mind about that, Aziraphale _was_ worth it, a hundred times over. Crowley would read _tomes_ for him, would slog through goddamn War and Peace and unabridged Dickens if it was what he had to do for him. He’d do it willingly, he wouldn’t hesitate, but this, when it was coming directly from the angel, felt like… wrong, it felt wrong. It felt like a betrayal, _which it wasn’t,_ of course it wasn’t, but it still felt like it.

He swiped at his eyes, pissed and fuming at himself. Taking a better hold on the wheel, he started to turn towards home, only to smack the dashboard when he realized home was where the problem was. Stacked up in piles and hidden away on shelves. All because Aziraphale would like him better if he read more, even though he knew Crowley didn’t like it. All because Aziraphale felt strongly enough about it to start planting books in his own flat, in _his space_ , in the hopes that Crowley would change himself to be worthy of his affection.

It fucking hurt.

He flew past a little cafe he knew Aziraphale liked tea from. Then a Waterstones, which he knew Aziraphale hated. And fucksake, when did every little thing come to be associated with the angel? Was this Crowley’s life now, driving around and constantly running into him everywhere he looked? Not that it hadn’t been like that for a while, for months and years and decades, even, but now it… now they were all just reminders. Reminders that Aziraphale was never gonna love him back if he stayed the way he was.

( _Of course he was never gonna love you, you stupid fucking demon. You were never gonna be_ worthy _of him_.)

Crowley didn’t change. He was immortal, eternal, basically, and while he enjoyed trying out the latest fads and styles he had never, in 6000 years, changed for someone else. Not for Hell, not for humans, sure as fuck not for Heaven. He’d never even considered it.

Now it was all he could think about.

The Bentley had made another two loops through the city when his phone started to buzz on the seat next to him. His fists tightened on the wheel. No. Bad plan. Do not. Anthony J. Crowley, don’t you fucking dare.

He reached for it at the next red light.

“Aaarr _rrgh_.” Missed call: Aziraphale. One new voicemail.

He shouldn’t listen to it yet. Fucksake, Crowley, what’s it gonna do but hurt you more? C’mon, get your shit together first, then hear what—

But when had Crowley been able to deny his angel anything? When was the last time he hadn’t answered Aziraphale’s call? He didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter. It seemed he was incapable of it now.

“Ah, hello, dear, I’m, ah…”. Crowley’s hand shook a little bit as he held the mobile up to his ear, and he glared at it. “Well, I’m—oh, goodness, Crowley, I’m so sorry.” Had Crowley been the one driving properly, at least three pedestrians would have been in mortal danger as his whole body jolted. Aziraphale’s voice continued, growing more and more fervent even if there was—was there? Was Crowley imagining the tremble at the edge of his voice? “This is all my fault, I never should have—oh, and without _asking_ , I don’t know what I was—but I am so terribly sorry, my dear boy, I… Please forgive me, I went too far. I know that. I’m… I’ll have the books gone in the next hour or so. I understand why you’re upset, I—I should have asked, but I was…. Anyway. I’ve got almost all the books out, don’t worry about that, and I’ll be—I’ll be back at the shop if you’re—if you’d like to come over. We’ll just—just mark this off as a mistake, I promise, all back to normal. I’m so sorry about it, my dear. I’ll—I’m sorry.” There was a pause, then, a long moment where it sounded like Aziraphale wasn’t done, like he had something else he wanted to say. But then there was just a sigh, and a click, and the voicemail ended.

Crowley took a shaky breath. _I’m sorry?_ What was that—that wasn’t—

What the fuck was he supposed to do with that?

 _I’m sorry._ He was getting rid of the books. Not even a word from Crowley, just some rambling and a hurried exit, and he was taking the books back. _I’m sorry._ He said it was just a mistake, just something to fix and take care of and not do a second time, but not something that had to change anything. Nothing, and no one, had to change. _I’m sorry._

_Please forgive me._

Tyres squealed as Crowley took a decidedly illegal u-turn. Not the Bentley’s tyres, though, as those were already two blocks away.

It took half a demonic miracle to keep the bell above the bookshop door from flying off its string when Crowley slammed into the building. Aziraphale jumped, dropping the cardboard box he’d been carrying.

“Oh! Crowley!” He cried when he turned and saw the demon coming in. “Oh, my dear I’m—I’m so sorry about earlier. This is the last of them here, you won’t have to—”

“Why’d you bring the books?” Crowley interrupted, stalking towards Aziraphale. His heart was hammering in his chest, pumping metaphysical adrenaline through his system. But this time, it wasn’t pushing him towards flight.

Aziraphale pulled at his waistcoat, even though he didn’t look away. “I’m sorry, dear, I wasn’t thinking, it won’t happen again—”

But Crowley wasn’t leaving without an answer. He’d heard bits of something he didn’t understand in that voicemail, and he’d be damned all over again if he didn’t find out what. “Aziraphale. Why did you put your books in my flat?”

The angel sighed. “Oh… Why do you think?”

“Uh-uh. No, my brain is not to be trusted where I’m concerned, I need to hear why from _you_.”

Now Aziraphale did look away, fiddling with the ring on his pinky and shifting on his feet. “I… you’ve been bringing me plants for years. I was just… returning the favor?”

“I bring you my rejects,” Crowley countered, sure that Aziraphale was still avoiding the truth of the matter. “And you _like_ them. I don’t… angel, _you know_ I don’t like reading.”

“No, of course I do, dear. I—it wasn’t—” His hand stilled on his ring, gripping tight enough to make the knuckles go white. He was determinedly looking at the floor, but Crowley thought he saw—it wasn’t, there was no way he was right, but the shine he saw in Aziraphale’s eyes looked almost like tears.

“Angel?” he prompted, quietly, gently.

Aziraphale’s voice was no more than a whisper. “They weren’t for you.”

Crowley took a step closer to him. “You’re the only one who’s ever in my flat.”

“I—I know.”

Another step, and Crowley was standing right in front of him. “What’s going on?” On instinct, on some whim he’d long since shoved away, he reached out. Aziraphale’s breath hitched when he set a hand on his chin. “Angel?” He pulled gently, so gently, nudging Aziraphale to look at him. And—oh God. Oh God they _were_ tears.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said again, his voice catching on the end of it. “I’m sorry, dear boy, please forgive me, please, I—I just—”. The sound that followed was much too close to a sob for Crowley’s comfort.

“Angel!” He moved his hand to Aziraphale’s cheek, brought the other up to brush back his hair. “Hey, angel, it’s okay. It’s fine, you can bring your stuff over if you want, I don’t mind. It’s okay.” Aziraphale’s shoulders shuddered again, and he nodded, but Crowley was still sure he was missing something crucial. Something in the way Aziraphale was leaning into the contact of Crowley’s hand on his cheek, but held his own hands tensely clasped, white-knuckled and trembling.

“Aziraphale,” he started cautiously. He pushed his curls back again, letting his fingers skim over the angel’s forehead, and the resulting shiver pushed him on. “If you want to… if you want to spend more, er, spend more time at my flat, that’s… I’m okay with that. I’ll—angel, you can bring over as many books as you want, if it’s—if it’s to have while you’re over there with… with me. Or if…” His hand stilled. Watery blue eyes looked at him steadily, despite the wobbling lip. “Oh.” Something slid into place. “You wouldn’t—that wouldn’t be this big a— _oh_ .” Aziraphale swallowed, but he didn’t turn away. Crowley hooked a lock of blonde hair behind his ear, staring at it in a kind of awe. “It’s—were you trying to—did you want to… have… have some of your—some of _you_ —at, at my place? With me?”

Aziraphale took a shaky gasp, and Crowley knew he’d finally understood, finally hit the mark. “It wasn’t—it wasn't anything _possessive_ , I promise, Crowley, it was just—I just—” Then he looked away, and Crowley watched his eyes flit across the floor, searching for the words he wanted to say and coming up empty. After a moment he sighed in defeat and turned to him again, and his face was so open and vulnerable Crowley thought it might tear him apart. He took another still-shaky breath, but he didn’t glance away again. “I love you.” _I love you._ “And I… I—”. _I love you._ “I wanted—I want to be with you _more_ , so…”. _I love you._ “So I started bringing the books, and I thought you’d ask about it, and I could—I could tell you I wanted to spend more time with you, and you’d tease me about how we _already_ spend all our time together, and I would—well, sometimes I thought I would back out and joke with you, but I might—there was a chance I would tell you. I would ask you if I might—if we could—I… oh, Crowley, I want to live with you. I want to live _together_ with you.”

Crowley stared, and Aziraphale stared back. The angel’s eyes were still over-bright, and his cheeks were blooming pink, but he didn’t look away. And Crowley couldn’t, could do nothing but stand and stare and hold Aziraphale’s face in his hands as his mind scrambled to catch up with his ears. “But then—well you never _noticed_ , and I kept bringing more books and putting them in less subtle places and you _kept not noticing_ . I … I suppose I went too slow for you. And it got totally out of hand, I know, and I’m sorry,” _I love you._ “But I didn’t know what else to do, and—”

“Yes,” Crowley jumped in, finally getting it, and before he could think any further he started babbling. “Yes, yes yes yes yes yes, angel, yes, I—yes, _yes_.”

“...what?”

Crowley brushed at Aziraphale’s hair again, smoothed his thumb across his cheek. _I love you._ “Yes, yes I want to live with you, I want—yes yes yes, I want that, more than anything, angel, and, and, yes, and _yes_ I love you,” _I love you._ “I love you, angel, yes—no, no no not too slow, you weren’t too slow for me, never, angel, you could never, you’re _perfect_ , you can be as slow as you want, always, _always_ , angel.”

Aziraphale stared at him, open-mouthed. Slowly, cautiously, he lifted one hand to loosely cover Crowley’s on his cheek, and he revelled in the warmth, in the softness of it. “You—could you...” Aziraphale’s voice was weak. “Could you say that middle bit again?”

Crowley leaned in, carefully resting their foreheads together. Aziraphale caught his breath. “Aziraphale, _I love you._ ” They were so close, he could feel every little movement, share every little breath. He could feel as well as hear when Aziraphale said it back.

The floodgates opened. Now that he had said it, now that he was _allowed_ to say it, he couldn’t stop. “I love you I love you I love you I love you.”

“Move in with me,” Aziraphale gasped. “Move in with me, please, darling, I never want you to leave, never want to go home without you.”

“I _love you._ ”

Aziraphale threw an arm around Crowley’s neck and pulled him in, temple to temple, holding him close. “I thought I ruined it,” he whispered. “Thought I ruined _everything._ ”

“I nearly did.” Crowley tensed. “Angel—angel if you hadn’t called, if I hadn’t come back, I might’ve—we wouldn’t—”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, love— _my_ love, my—oh, _Crowley_ , my darling, I love you so much.”

Crowley buried his nose in Aziraphale’s collar, feeling his face start to burn red. “Angel...” he murmured.

“I love you terribly, my dear. I absolutely adore you, you mean everything to me. You’re incredible. You’re the light of my life—”

“Stop,” Crowley gasped, suddenly lightheaded. “Stop, angel, too much, it’s too much. I can’t—you’re gonna discorporate me.”

“Alright, darling, I’ll stop.” He somehow leaned in closer, spoke right into his ear. “But you _are_.”

Crowley heard himself make a sound that wasn’t quite as embarrassing as a whimper, and he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling them together shoulder to hip. One of Aziraphale’s hands moved up to cup the back of his head, digging through his hair in a way that made Crowley just melt against him. “Should… should I bring the books back, then?”

“If you want,” Crowley murmured against his cheek. “Should I bring more plants?”

“If you want,” Aziraphale replied. “Although I can’t imagine this place will do them much good. Not exactly sunny in here.”

“Maybe… maybe we should get a new place.” The gentle pull of Aziraphale’s fingers in his hair urged him on. “Find somewhere that’s—that’s _ours_.”

“Could do,” Aziraphale said, absently rubbing his scalp and making him purr. “Could certainly do. Find a place for the both of us.”

“Together.”

“Together, my love. Always together.”

A few words, a phone call, a hand carding through someone else’s hair. It’s amazing, really, how much something can change in a moment, so long as the change is noticed.

And really, what better way to notice someone’s changes than by living with them, together, until the very end of time?


End file.
